


Dream

by pechekeen



Series: Wavelengths [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apartment AU, Artist Timmy, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Podcast / voice actor Armie, Slow Burn, Timmy and Saoirse had a fling or three 'back in the day' aka like the last year, armie stans timmy's singing and sobs half of the time, serenading all day every day, timmy stans armie's podcast but has no idea that armie's his upstairs neighbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 14:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14403978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pechekeen/pseuds/pechekeen
Summary: It's interesting how so many lives intermix within a single building. Everyone has lives of their own yet there are times where they're bound to cross at some point. So it's a wonder how Timothée and Armie's hasn't even though they've both been residents of the same complex for more than a few years. Well, not directly at least. Armie lives directly above Timothée and they have a somewhat unique relationship- if anyone can even call it that.





	Dream

**Author's Note:**

> and here is that apartment au i 'tried' to stay away from! i want to thank [@thexluckyxduck](https://thexluckyxduck.tumblr.com/), [@parlare-o-morire](https://parlare-o-morire.tumblr.com/) , [@billowyblues](https://billowyblues.tumblr.com/), [@royalworldtraveler](https://royalworldtraveler.tumblr.com/), and [@geekgirl1](https://geekgirl1.tumblr.com/) for your input / help so far!

_"And that concludes this episode's tales.. I hope everyone enjoyed it and we hope to catch you next week with another episode from A Bloody Good Time. Have a safe night you ghouls, and remember... there is danger that lurks not only within the night, but also within the light."_

There is danger that lurks not only within the night, but also with the light.. The man's voice echoed around in his head; low, deep and slightly raspy.. it was captivating and half of the reason why he had subscribed to the horror podcast when it had first started. The sound of the pouring rain came to his ears once the podcast ended. Another drag was taken from his cigarette before he snuffed it out.

God, was it dreary.

He wasn't sure what was going on with the weather, but he swore the fluidity of it was broken. One day it was up in the mid seventies, blue skies and without a single cloud in sight. The next, though? The next day it was overcast with the constant threat of a thunderstorm right on the horizon from day til night. Spring had never been so confusing before, and it was becoming one hell of a minor inconvenience when he couldn't decide if he should put away his winter clothes or not.

A light drizzle had fallen over the concrete landscape when the sun shone bright in the early morning. Then, as the hours passed on, angry wisps of grey rushed in and brought forth fatter drops of precipitation. It went from a shower to a torrential downpour within seconds, and he was one of the lucky few that hadn't been caught up in it.

Timothée had been outside on his balcony for the better part of the day. An ashtray laid half filled with snuffed out filters and a fine layer of ash. Another cigarette was taken out of his pack, lit and then placed in between his lips so he could take a long drag from it. The cherry of light glowed brighter during the inhale before it slowly dulled again. He let the smoke escape from the corners of his mouth and watched with a frown. Even the smoke seemed to thicken the second it was caught in humid air. The cigarette was pulled from his lips so he could flick the ashes off towards the side.

It's been at least ten minutes since his pencil had touched paper. The pages of his sketchbook seemed to stick together from the humidity and it irritated him a little. He knew that he could go inside and save himself the trouble of wallowing like a petulant child, but he didn't want to be stuck within four walls right now. It was.. suffocating in a sense; like he was truly detached from the world and he couldn't handle that with his mindset right now. There was a large bottle of water that sat right next to his elbow and he decided to take a swig of it. He hadn't been drinking enough lately, and he really needed to get back on track with that. Depression was hard enough on the mind, but nothing ever got _better_ if he let his body deteriorate with it.

 _Damn weather and it's lack of sunshine_ , he thought to himself even though he knew that basking in the sun wouldn't be an immediate cure. Still, getting some vitamin d did the body some good, or so he was told at least. Timothée smoothed a hand over the crinkled edge of the paper, and watched as it curled back up the moment his fingers left the surface. He needed to be productive again, but all of the motivation to do so had fled him the moment he got lost in the fall of rain. Then again, he wasn't too hard on himself for the break since he had made some good progress beforehand.

Timothée took out his phone and randomly selected a song to play just so he could cancel out the patter of rain. He flipped through the previous pages he had touched upon today and pursed his lips. Talk about an artist's block. There were plenty of thumbnails spattered across the toned paper, but none of them spoke to him. Not in the way he wanted at least. Timothée knew that he could paint them anyways and it would catch the interest of enough people, but he wanted something that would tie into his own emotions on a personal level. He wanted his work to not only speak to him, but to yell with such a ground breaking clarity that he had no choice but to let the muse take over his ambition.

It wasn't happening, though. A frustrated sigh seeped out through his nose as he tilted his head back. Timothée closed his eyes and let his conscious melt into the chorus. _"Oh, oh.. it’s inevitable, ain’t it? You left without saying. Oh, oh.. I hope the cracks in the pavement, lead back to you baby.. back to you baby"_ He sang with each note and word on tune, but there was a sudden lurch of bitterness that twisted in his throat. How pitiful.

The image of Saoirse came to mind, and he despised it a little. He despised how she was across the world to work on her next project while he stayed here. He despised how their last night hadn't been filled with empty promises, and was stuffed with the absolute lack of _everything else_ instead. There had been no sincere goodbyes, no tear inducing hugs, no heart wrenching kisses, pats on the back, handshakes- no _nothing_. All he had been left with was this bittersweet phantom in her stead. She had been his best friend, a blossoming love interest, and now she was hardly anything more than an acquaintance.

And Timothée knew- oh, how he knew- how her relocation was the reason why he couldn't paint or printmake or _draw_ right. His work had been praised for it's sensuality, the softness that barely veiled the visceral pull from any naked eye. Now, it was empty. _Now,_ it was barren and harsh; void of any softness and full of streaks and broken edges. Yet he had let time dull the initial pain, and now there was only the stubborn flicker of spite that came to life whenever he let himself flounder in self pity.

The next verse was hummed as he tapped his foot along the beat, and he did a surprisingly good job with keeping most of his emotions at bay. _"I burnt so many memories, just to make room for any, thoughts of caressing your sweet anatomy as we sleep. The taste you left on my teeth, your breath across my left cheek, the feeling chemically, oh.. and now you're running to the sound of the light.. running to the sound of the light.."_ Timothée stomped the top half of his shoe down onto the floor right when the note hit and opened his mouth to sing the chorus. Except he nearly choked on the inhale when he suddenly heard a loud _bang_ from the floor above.

Timothée let his chair fall down to the ground in a startle, and he tore an ear bud out. His face was scrunched in confusion, but he heard heavy footsteps stomp towards the ledge of the balcony above him and knew who it was right away. He had never talked to his neighbor that lived on the floor above his, but he had been around long enough to pick up on some things. Things like how the man was in a complicated relationship of some sort and had two children. One was a girl, Hops if he remembered correctly, and the other, the younger one, was a boy, Ford. They tended to play out on the balcony whenever it was sunny outside every few weeks. The girlfriend, or wife, or ex-whatever, sounded like she doted on her children whenever they were dropped off, but he never heard the husband speak. Well, not outside at least. There have been times where the door was open and he could faintly hear some clips of conversation, but that was only if he strained his hearing. Plus, he wasn't _that_ nosy to eavesdrop whenever he was outside.

The smell and sight of smoke filtered from upstairs, and he knew that whatever had his neighbor slam the door had to have been big. He might not know the man's name, occupation, or anything else besides a few of his mannerisms, but he felt for him, oddly enough. The man was probably a chain smoker, and he had smelled the rougher burn of weed on more than one occasion. The latter usually happened when his significant, or not so significant other, _also_ stormed out, and he only knew that because he could hear the front door rattle shut from anywhere in his own place.

Today seemed to be one of those rougher days. Evening was just around the corner and the growing sense of hunger started to creep up on him. Yet he didn't leave the balcony to get something to eat just yet. The cigarette he had forgotten about was taken from the ashtray and brought to his mouth. His eyes were turned skyward, or well it was turned roofward more like, while he waited in silence. The other ear bud was taken out and he could hardly hear the next song that played.

It went unspoken but they had this thing- their own sort of thing. There have been several instances where he knew his neighbor had heard him sing. Be it in the morning, in the middle of the afternoon, or the late evenings. Not a word had been said to him any time he had sang with an audience of one, but he would always get notes in his mail the next day.

The first note he had gotten had been after a bad argument. Timothée hadn't heard the details, but he could practically feel tension engulf the entire outside air that night. He had already been outside with his sketchbook on his lap at that point. And, truth be told, he wasn't sure what caused him to actually sing _to_ the man, but he did it anyways. He sang Dream, the one from Michael Bublé, off of the top of his head.  
It was a slow song with a long, smooth tempo, and by the time he was done he felt a little.. well, foolish. Who the hell was he to try and console a man he hardly knew? Especially when it was done through some random song? Yet he had done it anyways, and the man went back inside three minutes later. Timothée remembered sitting there, half frozen with a flush of embarrassment hot on his cheeks. He had gone to bed with his decision on replay in his head for the entire night. Then, the next day came, and when he checked his mail in the morning he saw a folded piece of paper.

 _'Thank you.'_ It had read in a weird combination of cursive and semi-legible letters. There wasn't a signature, no printed name, or even initials, but he knew who it was and he'd admit that he had grinned like an idiot. Timothée saved that scrap of paper, and the next one, and the next one.. so on and so forth. He had to get a folder to store all of the notes in, because of how frequent he ended up singing to his neighbor. Most of messages were words of gratitude, other times they were random comments about the song he chose, and sometimes it was something silly and nothing more.

Yet Dream would always be, what he liked to call, the origin. There were other songs that could have fit with a deeper meaning, but that was the only one he could think of at the moment. So, he reserves that particular song for the days where his neighbor seemed to be at his wit's end. Just like now.

The familiar tune was hummed loudly, but his voice still retained the smooth sweetness to call out to the man above him. _"Dream.. when you're feeling blue. Dream.. that's the thing to do. Just watch the smoke rings rise in the air.. you'll find your share of memories there. So, dream when the day is through.. Dream and they might come true. Things never are as bad as they seem. So dream, dream, dream.."_ The lack of instrumentals had originally proved to be a small problem, but he just hummed the melody to the best of his ability. That included the high fluctuation of all the parts before he rounded his words into the last verse.

 _"Dream when the day is through. Dream and they might come true.. for things never are as bad as they seem. So dream, dream, dream.."_ The last note carried into the brilliant spread of cadmium reds and yellows that lit up the sky from the setting sun. There was the faintest sound of shuffling feet, and he heard his neighbor clear his throat quietly. A small spark of hope, and some nervousness, swelled up in him from the prospect of hearing the man speak, but the blanket of silence stretched and stretched. Slowly, he realized that his neighbor wouldn't speak, and he sighed. Hopefully, the singing helped in some manner, but he couldn't linger outside any longer. Hunger had sank in and rumbled loud enough to make him cringe.

Timothée smoked the rest of his cigarette before he put it out. The sketchbook on lap was closed and he pocketed his phone when he stood. He got the ashtray and turned towards the door, but he paused and looked back up to the ledge that covered his head. "Take it easy," he called out after a moment's worth of hesitation. There wasn't a response back, of course, but he went inside knowing that his neighbor heard it.

**Author's Note:**

> there's an actual plot i have lined up, but i will most likely do a few fillers / one shots here and there!  
> this entire series will be heavily influenced based off of what all of you folks want to see so be sure to leave a comment on here or send me a message [over on my Tumblr! ](http://peche-keen.tumblr.com/)


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